Expressionate

by Lucy Smoke

  "You must be doing well if all three of you can afford to live at the apartment complex – in a four bedroom – with just what you make at music."

  I laugh. So loudly that a couple across the restaurant looks over, the woman scowling until she catches sight of me. As her expression morphs into one of interest, I calm down and focus my attention back on Love. "Oh no," I say, "Blake and Cross have other jobs as well. Cross is a personal trainer at a local gym and Blake is a graphic artist. He does all of our branding and stuff. I used to work at a friend's garage, but it's across town, so I mostly do music lessons when I can, the guitar, piano, drums – for a while there, I wanted to learn it all until I stuck to vocals."

  "I never knew," she says, sounding surprised.

  Chuckling, I lean back, slinging one arm across the seatback. I spread my legs under the table. "You never asked."

  Love frowns and her head tips to the side. Her eyes slide away, and I watch as her mouth opens and her teeth sink into her lower lip. In a split second, I'm hard enough to hammer nails. Shit—fuck. "You're right," she says as I attempt to adjust in the seat, scooting closer to the table and picking up my chopsticks again.

  "Um...I am?" I say, sliding across the seat closer to the inside of the booth as she continues worrying that lip with the blunt edges of her teeth. I can practically see that petal colored mouth wrapped around my dick, her big jade eyes staring up at me as she takes me into her throat. Fuck.

  "Yeah," she says. I freeze when her gaze meets mine. "I'm sorry, I've been kind of a bitch to you since you moved in."

  As I set my arms down on the table – chopsticks in hand, feeling like a fucking moron for probably looking like a squirming weirdo – I look at her. "You're not a bitch," I say, "and so what if you didn't know that the guys and I had extra jobs. We're neighbors, not fucking best friends."

  "I thought we were dating."

  I narrow my gaze on her. Oh, this sly little bird. I laugh. "Yes, we are," I state, "so since we're dating and you didn't know anything about me – I guess you'll have to make it up to me won't you?"

  Her jaw drops. "What do you mean?"

  "The guys and I are going to a party," I say, "big get together. Couple of other bands from the area are gonna be there. It's a good networking op they like to say, but really, it's just a bunch of old friends from the area getting together. I want you to come."

  Love slowly sets her chopsticks down. "A party? I'm not sure..."

  I drop my own chopsticks and reach across the table, snagging one of her hands. She looks at me. "Please?"

  "If I want to leave will you promise to take me home?" she asks quietly.

  Soothingly, I rub my thumb over the top of her hand. "All you have to do is say the word." It's a promise I'm more than willing to make. After that night in the university gardens, under the waterfalls, I can't help but get the feeling that this girl could ask me to jump off a bridge into a pit of fire and if it would make her happy, I'd do it.

  Love jumps as her cell phone goes off and she nods quickly before pulling away to answer it. The ringtone cuts off suddenly and then a follow-up ping sounds. She looks down at her screen and whatever she sees makes her mouth tighten until the corner of her lips turn purposefully downward. "Okay," she says suddenly, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "I'll go to the party, when is it?"

  I give her the date.

  She sighs, shoulders drooping as if she expected – or had hoped for a different answer. "Yeah," she says, "that's fine."

  I don't like the feeling that I've disappointed her somehow, but as we get back to finishing our lunch, I let the time drag and I don't say anything.

  13

  Love

  I feel foolish – like I'm trying too hard to erase the actions of my past. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I turn this way and that, trying to decipher any bad angle, any flaw that Anne could see. I don't know how I let Trisha rope me into the lunch meeting. I knew it had been vain to hope that Tax's party would coincide on the same day that Anne would be in town. Even if the party wasn't until later, I could claim – at least to Trisha – that I would be preparing for it or something. In reality, I could come up with a slew of reasons and excuses not to meet with Anne and Trisha today, but I haven’t. It’s better to get this over with sooner rather than later. Anne will eventually get what she wants anyway, she always does.

  I sigh and finally drop the skirt of my dress that I had been inspecting for minor errs during the last several minutes. I was really just stalling. It’s time to go.

  Grabbing my phone, purse, and keys, I head for the front door just as Beverly is stumbling out of her bedroom. She moves by me slowly, not even acknowledging my presence. She stinks of beer and something else that I can't quite muster up the courage to try and decipher. How she manages to pay her bills when she drinks and parties like she’ll die if she stops, I'll never know. I'm not going to ask any questions as long as the bill payments aren't affected by her lifestyle, though.

  The door to Tax's apartment remains closed as I walk by. Not that I had expected it to open and for him to appear like magic, but it might have been...nice to see him before I have lunch with the Devil.

  When I reach the steakhouse that Trisha had given me the address to, I’m more than a little nervous. My palms are damp with sweat and the fabric of my dress clings to my skin. I hurriedly reach into my glove compartment and take out a travel deodorant stick. Anything might set Anne off. I don't know what could do it – what will do it. Because something inevitably will.

  The host takes my name and leads me back towards a series of small four-person tables with white tablecloths, and a single, colorless, artificial flower as their centerpieces. Only two women are anywhere in the vicinity and they're both sitting at the very table we're heading for. Despite my earlier efforts, my hands begin to sweat again as I draw closer. Trish sees me and stands. Anne remains seated, her back ramrod straight, her face impassive – not revealing one single ounce of emotion.

  I quietly thank the host for seeing me to the table and I take a seat across from Anne – on Trisha's other side – and quickly lift the menu to block my face. I take several moments to myself even as I catch Trish's side gaze a couple of times as she attempts to get me to lower my menu with her facial expressions. Subtly as I can, I refuse, shaking my head slightly.

  Our waitress comes all too soon. Thankfully she begins with Anne, who orders a salad with fresh fruit and light dressing. Trisha orders a chicken and steak kebab combo and I order a small bowl of chicken tortilla soup and a side salad. The waitress takes our menus, effectively destroying the physical barrier I've created between Anne and me, but I quickly school my expression and keep my gaze downcast for a few moments before finally lifting my head.

  "So, Love," Anne is the first to speak, "Trisha tells me that you're staying in the area. With a roommate, is it?"

  A person doesn't just chance a look at Anne. They match her gaze and they hold it or they aren't worthy. So, when I look up and meet her eyes, I don't blink or flinch. "That's right," I answer. I'm pleasantly and proudly surprised by the steadiness in my tone.

  Now that I'm looking, I manage to examine her face without taking my eyes away from hers. The lines on her face are slightly more pronounced, but other than a slight sagging in her jowls, the grayness in her once straw blonde hair, she looks fairly the same as she did years ago.

  "I see." Anne folds her hands across her lap politely.

  Trisha looks between us, her eyes bouncing rapidly. When Anne does decide to release me from her gaze, I blink quickly to alleviate some of the dryness in my eyes, and then I glance at my sister. Trish looks strained, almost panicked and I don’t know why. Am I missing something? Is there something on my face? In my teeth? I haven’t eaten yet today.

  Anne purses her lips and then pushes her chair back. “I’ll return,” she says as Trish and I look up at her. She doesn’t give an explanation for her departure, but makes her way to the back of th
e restaurant where a strategically placed bathroom sign is nearly hidden from the primary restaurant hub.

  I decide to take advantage of my brief alone time with Trish. “We have to talk about Lawrence,” I say.

  Trish goes from somewhat panicked to full on, eyes-wide, hands shaking anxiety. “Not here,” she hisses. “Not now.”

  “If not here, then where? If not now, then when?” I know if I let her, she’ll simply keep brushing me off and we’ll never talk about it.

  “Please, Love, she is here.”

  “I don’t care about Anne,” I say, “I’m here for you, not her.”

  Trish focuses on her lap, refusing to meet my gaze. “She asked to see you.”

  I sigh. “I’m still not here for her.”

  Trisha sucks in a shuddering breath and I reach for her. “Hey—”

  “Am I interrupting something?” My hand freezes midway across the table as Anne’s cold voice penetrates the moment.

  Trish jerks her head up. “Oh, no, Mom,” she answers quickly. “Love was just—"

  Anne flicks her hand as she retakes her seat. "Never mind."

  I slowly pull away and place my hands in my lap, keeping my face passive. Inside, I'm fuming.

  The waitress returns with our drinks. Anne remains quiet as the woman asks if we need anything more. Trish mutters a polite, "No, thank you," and the three of us are left alone once more.

  I'm here for Trisha. Not Anne. But being near this woman brings back memories I don't want to think about. It’s like phantom pains from my past are crawling out of my pores, reminding me of the trash dump I clawed my way out of before throwing myself to the wolves. I let them tear me to shreds before I finally had enough. I don't want to think about any of that, but one look at Anne's cold, calculating expression brings it all out.

  Surprisingly, Anne and Trisha make small talk and other than a few sideways glances in my direction from the both of them – one gaze concerned, the other imperceptible – the lunch is not as bad as I had expected. It isn't until after our meal that the true bomb explodes in my face.

  As we're walking out of the restaurant, Trisha pauses and pats her sides. "I think I left my purse," she says. “I’ll be right back."

  I turn around. "I'll go with you," I offer.

  "No, that's okay, it'll just be a moment." I watch as she disappears back inside, and I'm left standing in the parking lot, the scorching summer sun on my neck and shoulders.

  "Tattoos are unbecoming of ladies," Anne says. The condescending tone of her voice is all too familiar and I realize that is what was missing at lunch.

  "How unfortunate," I say, "because they are also forever, and I already have them." I turn around and stalk towards the parked cars. Let her see my back. The dark ink stains on my skin are nowhere near as dark, cutting, or brutal as the scars beneath my flesh.

  I pause at the end of my car and hesitate. I really should wait for Trisha. The whole reason I came was to convince her to stay with me. Lawrence left me feeling raw and wrong. No matter how much she denied it, I knew something was going on.

  "I never expected that you'd be back here, trying to insert yourself into Trisha's life again."

  I whirl around, pressing back against my trunk. I hadn't realized Anne had followed me. She stood tall, her lips curled into a sneer as she looks at me. Why? I think. Why does she hate me so much? What had I ever done to her? I had been nothing more than a child when she had come into my life, but never once could I remember a kind word from her. Not unless we were in public and it was expected, or in front of my father.

  Why do I care? I inhale, close my eyes, and turn my head away. I can hear her well; if she moves, I'll know. I don't need to fear an attack. Not in broad daylight. Not in public. That's not how people like Anne work. They wait for moments of weakness, for signs of strife. And she doesn't control me anymore.

  Carefully, I open my eyes and face the woman that might have broken me once. Shattered, was more like it. Yes. She had shattered me. A small child in need of a little kindness and even worse than turning the other cheek and ignoring me, she ridiculed me, forced me away. I had taken that step to leave and she had badgered me about it – telling me there was no way I could make it on my own. It was because of her that I had done so. Because of her that I had found Danny. Because of her... that I had fallen down the deepest, darkest well I could have ever found myself in. I had ruined myself in that well, let it consume my body and my mind. But it was also because of Anne that I had forced myself to crawl out. Even as I am now, dripping in ink and old scars, I'm stronger because of this woman.

  I look at her. "Trisha said you wanted me here."

  Anne raises a brow. "That's right."

  I nod. "Go ahead and say what you asked me here to say.”

  "Not going to play games then, are we?" she asks, pursing her lips and tilting her head back to look down at me.

  "You were the only one who played games, Anne."

  "Hmmm." Anne folds her arms across her chest and taps her manicured fingertips against her elbows. "Well, then, if you insist. It has come to my attention that your presence in my daughter's life has brought with it...unfortunate influence."

  "Oh?" I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I hope she talks quickly. It’s already been a few minutes since Trisha had gone back for her purse. Certainly, she wouldn't be much longer. I want this conversation over and done with before she gets back. I need to get away. I can call or text Trish later to try and convince her to come stay with me.

  "Trisha has been having doubts about Lawrence," Anne confesses. My gaze jerks back to her. This is good news. I'm surprised. But Anne isn’t finished. "Lawrence is from a good family. His father is a doctor, a pediatrician. His mother and sister do well for themselves too. They co-own a little business I suspect won't be little for much longer." None of this is important and I'm wondering what Anne is getting at.

  I shake my head and decide to just cut to it. "What does Lawrence and Trisha's relationship have to do with me?"

  "Since you came back, she's ruining her life," Anne snarls. "She was on the fast track to marrying Lawrence. She could get her little MRS. degree and then she wouldn't have to work for a living or do anything. But now, all of the sudden, she's not happy with Lawrence anymore. She wants to change her major – to Photography and Art of all things! I'm sure it's because of you. You were always the one writing in your little journals and scribbling on notepads before I could get them away from you. Your little drawings and stories were nothing but childishness."

  Anne couldn't understand that I needed those drawings and those stories. That they were my escape, from her, from home, from myself when her hatred for me taught me to hate myself. My face, I'm sure, is blank. My expression wiped clean. Her own cheeks redden with fury. I had started this little ice routine of mine because of her – because showing no reaction, no emotion frustrated her and obviously, still does. With Danny, I had sunk myself deep beneath the ice and perfected it.

  "It sounds to me like your daughter is finally finding something that makes her happy," I state plainly.

  Me too, if I’m being honest with myself. Tax makes me – if not happy, then at least curious. The restaurant doors behind Anne open and Trisha comes out, carrying her purse. Her head is tilted down, away from the sun, as she strides across the parking lot. Anne and I don't have much time left. "And I promise you, the moment she leaves Lawrence, she will be ten times better off," I finally say.

  "You will regret crossing me, Love," Anne hisses, her gaze narrowing. "I promise you. If you think I can't make you regret your decisions now just because you think you’re all grown up, you’re wrong. You think I don’t know what kind of woman you’ve become?" Anne's disdain for me has never been more clear, but something in her tone makes me frown. What does she mean? I want to ask, but we're out of time.

  "Sorry! Sorry!" Trish stops next to her mother and gives both of us a strained smile. "I ran into a friend. I didn't know he worked
here; Ryder was just coming in for his afternoon shift."

  "No problem, Trisha darling," Anne says, sucking in a heavy breath. She steps back, blinking owlishly as if realizing just how close she was to me.

  "We were just catching up." My tone is flat as I stare at Anne.

  Her lip curls downward but she nods, acknowledging my statement. "That's right, but we really must be going. Come on, Trisha." Anne tugs on Trisha's arm before she can reach for me. We always hug when we say goodbye if we can, but Trisha's face tells me not to this time. She gives me another apologetic smile, and retreats to the car she rode in with her mother.

  Even as they climb into Anne's newer mustang convertible and drive away, I stay standing right where I'm at. Almost as if I'm rooted to the spot. It takes me several minutes to realize that there is sweat dripping down between my shoulder blades and coating my palms. It's hot outside...but not that hot.

  14

  Tax

  You've been hanging out with that chick an awful lot lately," Cross says from the kitchen.

  "Yeah? And?" I click a button on the remote and the channel changes, throwing different shades of light across the room. Down the hall, both Blake and Ally are sleeping. Ally hasn't had a need for tutoring with Love much, but I certainly like it when she comes over. Even if I do try to give them their space, I like listening to the sound of Love's voice as she's talking to Ally.

  In reality, Ally's pretty smart. She doesn't struggle nearly as much as I tried to get Love to believe so she'd take pity on me and come over. Though, it was pretty lucky that she needed a tire change when she did. No, I’m just worried that all the testosterone Ally was living with might be enough to drive her out of her mind. And she seems to like Love – I can’t blame her on that. The Harris siblings have great taste – we both like Love.